Sleepy Secrets
by LionAmongTheSheep
Summary: Italy takes care of a sick Germany and hears a few not-so-innocent things mumbled from the sleeping man.


It was extremely hot at Italy's house. It was so hot, in fact, that the normally pasta loving bouncy brunette was looking at any hot food with utter disgust. As much as his stomach protested for the gluten filled meal, his body temperature simply begged him to stay put, lying on his back on his living room floor, eating gelato as an old floor fan rotated its breeze over the length of his body. He didn't listen to his stomach.

Here in Italy's home, his country, his heart, he really did love the weather. He loved how beautifully the country changed seasons. But this was too much. It was only April. It should be breezy and floral and bursting with life and colors and delightful rain showers that Italy would always drag Germany out into to play, though the bulky blond just stood there and sighed while begging Italy to go inside before they both got sick.

Today, though, Italy wished he was at Germany's house, where he knew it was still delightfully cool out. However the problem remained that he was hosting training this month and Japan and Germany would be there any time to get started, and knowing Germany they would be made to run outside no matter the heat or humidity.

About two hours passed of Italy lazing around, groggy from the heat and slipping in and out of little cat naps, before a light knock sounded at his door. He knew it was Japan. Unlike Germany, who took it to heart when Italy told them that they could enter his home whenever they pleased, Japan's politeness walled him off from that option. So, rather than yell out that it was open, the Italian stood and walked to the door, pulling it open to reveal a disturbingly pristine Japan.

"Ciao Japan! Wow you aren't even sweating."

Italy placed a hand on Japan's forehead and actually managed to look disgruntled at the fact that there was barely any dampness. His own body felt like he'd just gotten out from a steamy shower and wouldn't dry.

"Good afternoon, Italy. Indeed, I am not sweating because I am not hot. This kind of weather is very nice to me, in fact."

Japan gave a soft smile and walked into Italy's house once he'd been gestured inside. They both went into the kitchen and sat at the table to wait for Germany, who to Italy's surprise, seemed to be ten minutes later than he normally would be.

They chatted for a while, Italy offering Japan some of the tea that he happily kept in his pantry specifically for his visits and physically sweating more just thinking about drinking it. It was a full half hour before they perked up at hearing heavy footsteps walking into the house along with a strangely placed cough that frankly sounded like an old cat hacking up a giant hairball.

When Germany trudged into the kitchen, even Japan managed a defined grimace at the blond's appearance. It was one thing for Germany to be late, but his current appearance excused that ten times over. His blond hair was plastered, un-gelled, to his forehead with sweat, which was expected, but not this way. His eyes were rimmed red, along with an unnatural flush that decorated his cheekbones and especially his nose, which he was audibly sniffling into. He looked incredibly and undoubtedly sick.

Italy snapped from his trance when Germany brought a fist to his mouth, coughing throatily. Immediately the Italian was pressing a hand to the pale forehead, handing him tissues from the counter.

"Germany! Why aren't you at home sleeping!? You should have called us to tell us that you were sick! You need a siesta, not training, please go home!"

"Nein, Italy. I feel fine enough to do our normal regiment today. Please do not worry about me."

Italy was so unconvinced that it was painfully obvious, as he rolled his eyes and scoffed at Germany for the first time ever. He walked over to the sink and filled a glass of water for the German, getting two painkillers from the cabinet and promptly shoved them into Germany's mouth, handing him the water. It surprised both Germany and Japan how serious and forceful Italy was being.

After swallowing the pills with a sip of water, and after a disapproving look from Italy, finishing the rest of the glass, he shook his head and placed a hand on his forehead.

"I suppose I am too sick to run today. But I can still supervise . . ."

"No Germany, please, you need to sleep and drink a lot of water and keep off your feet or you won't get any better! I will take you home right this second."

Grabbing the big gloved hand in his, he turned to Japan and politely smiled, nodding in a way that signaled his leave.

"I'm sorry for leaving Japan! I hope you understand, I'll make you some pasta to make up for it!"

The Japanese man bowed his head and shook it at the same time.

"No need for that Italy. Please take good care of Mr. Germany."

Italy's smile grew and he waved, walking out with Germany, who seemed to be grumbling under his breath about not being able to train and how stupid it was to catch cold in such a strange time of year. Italy giggled but strode resolutely next to Germany, intent on getting the stubborn man some cough medicine and a long, long nap.

Once the two had arrived at Germany's house, Italy pulled the pockets from a sniffling and sneezing German's pocket and let them in, smiling gently when the scent of sausage and old wooden furniture wafted into his nose. He always loved Germany's house because it smelled homey. Like a place where you could be warm and cozy even on a blizzard day.

Italy made quick work to find cough medicine, a large glass of water, and a quilt from the hall closet before walking into Germany's bedroom to find him already sitting on his bed. He'd removed his jacket and boots, now in his green fatigues and black tank top. He looked miserable, to say the least, and it actually hurt Italy a bit, because Germany is supposed to be big and strong and as tough as a rock, untouchable really, but here he was, tired and sick as a dog.

Italy sat down next to Germany and poured the correct dosage of cough medicine into the plastic cap, handing it and the glass of water over. He almost laughed at the face the blond man made but held it in because he knew he should stay serious now. Germany needed to get better, so Italy would make sure he did.

After noticing that Germany was only sipping at the water, his eyes drooping shut, he reached over and tilted the glass upwards, once again forcing the other to finish the water he was given. Hydration was a must, as well as keeping warm, which would be plenty easy with the heavy quilt he'd found.

Once he'd set the glass down, Italy unfolded the quilt and stood.

"You need sleep Germany. So lie down and stay warm because you need to break your fever, even though it seems strange to have to stay warm to break being too warm, that's how it works."

With a committal grunt, Germany shimmied down under his sheet and shut his eyes. After Italy draped the quilt over him, he grabbed a book from the bookshelf at the end of the bed and sat on the floor next to Germany's head. He wanted to stay in case his friend needed anything, but for once had better judgment than to start running around or being noisy in the kitchen or trying to crawl into the German's bed to siesta with him.

After a while he began hearing languid breaths and soft snores, a shuffle here and there as the other attempted to lie in a position where his nose didn't hurt, and Italy couldn't help but smile to himself. He found that being the caretaker for once was intensely fulfilling. Normally, Germany would be the one taking care of Italy. Rescuing him, teaching him, training him, bringing him places, making sure he woke up in time to do things, just about everything. Germany always, _always_ took care of Italy without more than a half threatening warning.

For once, it was the opposite, and that made a warmth bloom in the bottom of Italy's stomach. Thinking about these things made it difficult to focus on the book in his hands, his mind drifting off into much more important things such as how Romano and Spain were doing, whether or not he would make pasta for dinner, and wondering if Germany would even want to eat dinner that night.

They really were all very important thoughts, but somehow Italy was interrupted right in the middle of them by a familiar voice mumbling some intelligible words above his head.

Italy, newly awakened from his dawdling stupor, listened closely to try to understand Germany, not knowing if he was asking for something or just talking in his sleep.

It was the latter.

It was definitely the latter.

Italy's face erupted into the most blazing blush he'd ever experienced. He couldn't believe that he was kneeling beside Germany's bed, listening to him moan in his sleep. Moaning, a kind of moaning that wasn't meant for pain or anguish but only for when someone else's fingers glide teasingly over the most sensitive areas of skin or when a lover's voice hotly flows into your ear. It was such an alien sound, so embarrassing and strange, but not entirely bad. After the initial shock, Italy just giggled and leaned closer, secretly hoping to hear a name of his mysterious dream lover.

He received an uncharacteristic mewl, a whisper of 'more, lower', and a very adorable but tantalizingly sexy groan of approval for whoever was doing whatever in his head.

However, as anyone who has lived long enough to know a thing or two about life would know that nothing is ever as it seems, and to always be prepared to be caught off guard. Because frankly, Italy was not expecting what would escape Germany's mouth.

His sweaty brows were furrowed, his hands clenching the pillow as his soft panting continued, and the way he said what he did made Italy's mouth go dry.

"Ngh, Italy please, again . . ."

The blush that had earlier faded came back even more intense than before, his body automatically backing away just a bit from its close vicinity to Germany's. He almost didn't believe that he'd heard that. Honestly, he didn't mind it, but it was just really strange to hear Germany sound like that. Just yesterday, the same man was reprimanding him for falling behind during training, his bellowing voice sending their rumbling vibrations straight through his chest. But now . . .

Italy continued watching, his embarrassment ebbing into curiosity. Sure, he'd always held a fascination for Germany, trusted him the most and craved his company the most. He talked the most to Germany and spent the most nights at his house, more familiar now with the German's kitchen than his own, and he often did find himself wondering what it would be like to be with Germany in a deeper sense than just friends. But he'd never scratched the surface of anything sexual. Not once had his mind let itself meander past heated kisses and longing touches and warm secure nights. But obviously Germany's had.

Italy's head now rested on the sheets, near Germany's hips, as he knelt beside the bed and looked up at him whilst he thought. What caught him off guard was how incredibly blissful Germany looked, even in his sleep and even though his dream was only a dream. He looked euphoric, for lack of a better term.

It was then that Italy made up his mind. Sick or not sick, if Germany had energy to dream these dirty things, surely he would be just fine. It was at that next moment that the Italian felt something switch in his head, like every innocent thought he'd ever had flew out the window and was replaced by perversions and neediness and desire. Lust.

Italy's legs pushed him up on their own accord, but it wasn't as if he wanted to stop himself from softly climbing onto the bed, straddling Germany's hips as staring down at his flushed and sweaty face. It really was quite a turn on, hearing the big strong Germany mewl and moan and keen like this, even though he was completely out cold and simply talking in his sleep. Even though Italy knew the blond would be furious upon waking up, which he was sure to do, he couldn't help but shrug. There was no turning back. He didn't want to anyways.

Italy waited until he heard a soft gasp of 'Italy, God . . .' before he leaned down, his lips poised in a smile right over Germany's ear, his breath clouding around his face as he hesitated. He let his hands roam up the broad chest pressed against his own, Germany's breath hitching a bit but ultimately he stayed asleep, and Italy finally let his voice through, intent on making this as fun as possible.

"Germany~, I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want."

Italy felt the heat pool in between his hips that were currently on top of Germany's, both of their arousals beginning to become painfully hard at the contact. He was pleased to receive a response.

"Nnn, touch me more, Italy."

After a mumbled 'Such incredible hands' followed, Italy smirked an unfamiliar smirk as he nibbled on Germany's ear, his hands sliding feather light along the strip of skin above the waist of the other's pants. He was too into this to stop, and he couldn't really comprehend that his hips began to roll into Germany's until it was already happening. His fingers traced along that sensitive skin before delving just below the belt, the hips under him twitching as if they were begging for something to take the pent up need on.

Italy's lips moved down to find purchase on the vein pulsing on Germany's neck, humming softly at the taste of salt and skin and simply Germany that was only here, on this surface, in this kind of way, and he knew that the fingers now inching downward could only hold out for so long. He wanted this. He'd never thought about it before, but now he knew. He knew, and he was now hopelessly pressing his hips into Germany's while the hand between them itching to wrap its nimble fingers around the thick cock dipped deeper and finally found its prize.

Germany's breathing was erratic and desperate and his hips were also in rhythm with Italy's as Italy whimpered and moaned into Germany's neck. Italy just prayed that Germany was still somehow dreaming because if he didn't finish before he got caught he would probably just keep going and never be able to stop. It felt so good. So sinfully, incredibly good.

"Germany, Germany, I want more . . . more Germany."

"_Feli_ . . ."

A shudder of crushing pleasure at his partially uttered human name made its way down his spine and he just knew that he had to do more. Sitting up, still rolling his hips desperately, he reached to start unbuttoning his shirt and pants, both hanging open and exposing his lithe and moist body that was absolutely begging to be touched. In a way, he hoped Germany would wake up.

But for now, he settled for unbuttoning Germany's pants as well and languidly stroking him, admiring his body, the way his muscles sat in the perfect places, defined and delicious. He felt his own face growing hotter, his stomach tightening but not enough so that it pushed him over that sweet edge that he needed.

He was so lost in Germany's body, the way he breathed after Italy leaned back down to kiss at his neck and strong jaw. He used his free hand to splay underneath the blank tank top, brushing tantalizingly slow over the nipple on the broad chest, causing Germany's hips to give a little jolt, making Italy moan greedily against the skin of the other's collarbone.

It was sudden, but he felt like he was falling, physically, literally falling. Everything turned blurry and before he knew it, he'd been flipped and was now being pressed viciously into the mattress, Germany's body flush against his except their shoulders and heads. Before he knew it, he was staring up at ice blue eyes gleaming with an animalistic emotion that Italy would have normally run screaming from, but the fact that Germany's hips were still slowly rolling down into his own made him simply stare.

"You should not tease if you are not prepared for what will happen when the twine snaps, Feliciano."

Italy wasn't scared, but he was intimidated, which he blearily confirmed was the motive. He hadn't expected his primarily confident voice to come out so shakily.

"Y-yes. Understood."

He felt light headed with such intense pleasure that he blindly reached for Germany's shoulders and pulled him down, kissing and nipping at his lips playfully, begging him to do more. Without spoke words Germany reached between them and wrapped his large hand around both of their cocks, his flushed face twisting into something akin of relief, and started to move against Italy again. Italy's legs hooked behind Germany's back, his heels digging relentlessly into the small of his back as he continued to move. He was so close.

"More, please Germany something, anything just . . ."

Germany's free hand roamed across the smaller chest beneath him, his thumb teasing a pert nipple as his teeth found the other, Italy a writhing, moaning mess beneath him, just like he wanted. Italy knew it was what he wanted, along with the fact that he couldn't control himself. His back was arching impossibly off the bed, his head tossed back to give Germany's lips purchase on his neck when he moved up leaving a hot trail behind.

As he heard Germany's breathing grow ragged, his movements becoming slower and harder, he felt himself shudder roughly, the release he'd been begging for finally reaching him.

"Ludwig! Oh god, Ludwig, ah!"

He clung to the German, his fingers knotted in blond hair as he screamed into the junction of Germany's shoulder. Germany as well found his release in Italy's, his body's shudders rippling through Italy's being as they came down with heaving breaths.

He still attached himself to the German, nuzzling into his neck tiredly as large arms snaked underneath him to roll them over so Italy was lying comfortably on the other's chest. He felt immediately tired, completely spent and satisfied. But he stole a glance upward to see Germany staring down at him with a fond and soft look in his eyes, and when he reached up to card his fingers through Italy's honey hair, holding him so, so close, Italy knew that it was all okay.

"Ludwig . . ."

He whispered it, softly, just to be able to say it. He liked the way it rolled off of his tongue.

"Ludwig . . . Love you."

He felt Germany press a soft kiss to his forehead, a small smile sneaking its way onto the normally straight lips.

"Love you too, Feli, and I'm sorry it took this for me to say it."

"No, that's okay. Really. We should do it again sometime."

A devious little smirk was plastered on Italy's face as he looked up, resting his chin on his hands to stare at Germany.

"I agree."

And so they did, to Italy's joy, three more times that day.


End file.
